The Sacrament
by sulwynbennettkennedy
Summary: Thranduil realizes his love for the Silvan elf Sulwyn in the presence of his son, Legolas. Ahhhhh...what's this, I see? The Great King of all Mirkwood at a loss for words? ThranduilxOC oneshot OOC Thranduil


A thumbnail moon hung high among a cloudless, black sky. The sun had been long gone for many hours, and the creatures of the wood had retired, some in sleep, some in fear of the things that were fond of lurking in the darkness. Yet disturbing the shadowy shapes of the trees was the slender form of a young elf, his pale hair shining slightly under the starlight as he walked briskly and knowledgeably from branch path to branch path in the twisting Mirkwood domain, a path that he had taken many times before.

Most of the prince's kin were fast asleep, aside from the guards that kept watch at a handful of doorways throughout the evening, including the one door that he stopped at: a tall door, about ten feet high, composed of three tones of smoothed wood in intricate, delicate weaving patterns framing a carving of a galloping elk in the center. One of the armored guards on the left side of the glorious door smiled and nodded at the elf before him and opened it, "Legolas," he greeted quietly and respectfully, while bowing his head. Legolas smiled at him with a quick nod as he briskly entered the doorway of his father's chamber. Immediately he felt a cold breeze in the vast expanse of the room before him. He was glad that he put his pale blue cloak over his roomy night robe. Taking in the dark, rather reddened scenery before him, Legolas found Thranduil slumped in his throne, ivory hair disheveled, and twig crown tossed carelessly on the floor not six inches from Legolas's feet.

Thranduil raised himself up slightly, caught a quick glance at Legolas before him, then placed both his hands beside his temples as if his head were giving him trouble. His furrowed brow and bloodshot eyes gave away the fact that he had not been sleeping much, if at all, and his mouth was set in a miserable frown as his glittering eyes focused on the floor. He was still dressed in the silver robe and iron-colored breeches he was wearing during the daylight. Legolas picked up the crown before his feet and scrambled to his troubled father, much like he did when he was little. But as soon as he was close, he regained the composure of his age, yet still with great concern he asked, "What is troubling you? Surely you wouldn't have summoned me so late…" Thranduil looked up at him, dropping one of his hands to his side, yet leaving one to rub his temple painfully.

"I…" he began, his voice so low and quiet that even Legolas was struggling to hear his father's deep voice.

Thranduil usually had a dark, hushed voice, even when angered, yet this was much beyond that. Legolas raised his eyebrow at him and nodded slowly, urging him to go on as he bent his head lower towards him.

"It is…her…" Thranduil spoke again, having a difficult time keeping eye contact with Legolas.

"What about her?" Legolas inquired, biting his lower lip.

"I am…" Thranduil sighed and broke eye contact, looking downwards. "I am in love with…her." The last word was a whisper, yet Legolas knew what he had said. His crystal blue eyes lit up, and he couldn't help himself, and burst into laughter before his appalled father.

"What in world is so comedic?" Thranduil demanded, a pink tint beginning to heat up the pointed tips of his elvish ears. He willed himself not to turn completely red from embarrassment. Legolas clutched his side in an attempt to calm himself, slowly turning his laughter into rather high-pitched giggles from his usual alto voice.

"I am…truly sorry, Father. I just never expected to see you so distraught like this…over a girl. A dark-haired elf from Rivendell, robbing the great Thranduil of sleep. I actually find it quite endearing." He took a few more breaths to calm himself down while Thranduil's lips curled into a disgusted scowl.

"Enough of your laughter, Legolas," he snapped. "It is true, the girl has bewitched me, but this weakness must never leave your person. If anyone is to tell her, it shall be me." Legolas nodded slowly, eyes still glittering in excitement, as he forgot the fact that he was quite sleepy. "I need…your aid, Legolas." Thranduil declared, eyeing Legolas intensely.

The sun rose quietly, a warming star with the comforting color palette of a campfire. Your eyes instinctively open at the sunlight shining onto your face through your window. Your room in Rivendell was quite small, but quite comforting, decorated in lavender flowers and white furniture, with a large window beside your bed with a lovely view of the waterfalls nearby. A gentle knock on your door startles you, and you lean up in your bed, mournfully realizing that your long, dark brown hair is a mess of knots and tangles, almost like the moss on the trees. You shake your head and yawn, stretching your arms above your head. You grab a purple silk robe that is carelessly strewn on the floor and put it on, dragging yourself to the door. Slowly you open it, hearing a small creak, and you peek your head out to see a smiling, ivory-haired elf gazing at you with a mischievous glint in his eyes. You rub one eye with your fingers, "Legolas…?" you ask in disbelief.

"Come with me. My father wishes an audience!" he announces cheerfully.


End file.
